


It's a Delicate Matter - But Subtlety Isn't My Thing

by iguessitswhatever



Category: Elyza Lex (Fanverse), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, Elyza Remembers, F/F, POV First Person, Slow Build, Slow Burn, qtwd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8206363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessitswhatever/pseuds/iguessitswhatever
Summary: If you'd have asked me four years ago if I thought my life would have gone this way, I would have fucking laughed in your face.I was 22 then, still working on the farm.  It was 2010, and I had an idyllic fucking life.  Great job, great mates, fantastic alcohol tolerance - the important things - but then shit got crazy.Bear with me, childhood and other backstory is relatively unimportant, currently.  Let’s go back to the 'shit got crazy’ bit - because obviously that was the important part; I know, I’ve been so fucking subtle, you never would have guessed that something life-altering happened then.So I’m just going to lead you into this mess head first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself I wouldn't write an Elyza Lex fic, or write anything in first person, but here we are and the bad decisions have already been made. Elyza is pretty awesomely obnoxious and she annihilates the fourth wall right off the bat, so you've been warned.
> 
> I've elaborated a bit on the phonetically twisted Elyza Lex universe, and the characteristic differences between our faves in this new world and the 100 universe. We will get to Lexark eventually and the tags / warnings will grow as I post chapters, but mainly I'm focusing on Elyza as a character and how she handles the obstacles this world throws at her.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> And of course, I own none of the characters and plot derived from 'The 100' or 'Fear the Walking Dead'.

If you'd have asked me four years ago if I thought my life would have gone this way, I would have fucking laughed in your face. I mean I have to trace back a bit further, because shit got crazy for me before the rest of the world went to shit - but we're getting ahead of ourselves.

I was 22 then, still working on the farm - my father’s goat farm, Abiga Farms; don’t mind the shameless plug, although I suppose it's all memories now. It was 2010, and I had an idyllic fucking life. Great job, great mates, fantastic alcohol tolerance - the important things. God, I was still driving a motorcycle then; damn, I was fine as hell then. Such a ladykiller. Okay, getting away from the point.

Bear with me.

Childhood and other backstory is relatively unimportant, currently.  Let’s go back to the 'shit got crazy’ bit - because obviously that was the important part; I know, I’ve been so fucking subtle, you never would have guessed that something life-altering happened then.

So I’m just going to lead you into this mess head first.

Here goes. One morning, the 22 years behind me were the last memories I solely owned, because I woke up in a cold sweat - drama - and remembered an entirely different life that suddenly intermixed with my own. I weirdly had knowledge of things that I hadn’t previously learned, and felt things I’d never felt. And I know what you’re thinking - the tart doesn’t know what a dream is for fuck’s sake.  I would have originally agreed with you - because it’s fucking crazy - but the girl I remembered simply wasn't me. She looked like me and that where all similarities stopped - sort of, but we'll get there. 

Firstly, she was American and that right there was enough of a red flag - I can't even bluff a fake accent let alone dream in one. I mean without ever having picked up a gun, I suddenly had random knowledge on gun use and maintenance - which I know is making me out to be the worst Aussie ever, but just keep thinking motorcycles and leather jackets.  I swear I get better. I knew a weird amount about oxygen levels in confined areas and an entire language that I started to believe I’d made up after many failed Google searches.  I mean if the Internet doesn’t know then it’s all shit, right? 

To those of you still listening at home, the short answer is no.  It’s not all shit.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Backtrack.

I remembered everything.  I remembered my family - or Clarke’s family, I guess.  Clarke Griffin is the girl whose life I remembered.  Side note: for the sake of my pride and control over my individuality we’re gonna keep Clarke and I separate, although I know technically we’re really one vessel throughout different expanses of time and reality and all that garbage.  Clarke Griffin’s life; Elyza Lex’s life.  Different. Alright, moving on.  I remembered the things she’d done in her life, but also the things she felt - which I quickly knew put me in a very rare club because the bitch was more closed off than a nun’s legs - and those feelings included a lot more hurt that I pushed into the depths, only to be poorly covered with inappropriate jokes.

I knew almost from the get go that I was not who Clarke was in personality - she’s a fucking urgent, selfless bastard, I swear - but I’ve learned that in character alone, very little separates us.  

Oh damn, I’m so proud of this transition here; a little audience participation: Guess what my new Clarked-up self did right after I jolted awake? For all of you who guessed ‘ran to see her father’ you get one Clarlyza point for later - although it’s highly likely that I will never mention it again.  

Backtracking again. I got all caught up in my dramatic storytelling that I left out a huge part of my original shock in the memories.

Now, I must preface this with the fact that I have spent years juggling different ideas and theories as to why these memories came to me and why certain people have appeared in this world while others have not, but I do not know those answers - which I guess is a spoiler, but tough shit - I’m sure we’ll get to my thoughts on the matter eventually, but I have learned over and over again, that nothing is certain and it would be foolish to omit that lesson here as well.

Okay, anyway, when I remembered Clarke’s life, the first thing that really shook me was her mother. I realised very early on that Jake Griffin and my father were as similar as Clarke and I - which admittedly was surprising, but I have never had a match for Abigail Griffin in my life. My mother died when I was still a toddler, but I had enough pictures of her - and common sense - to know that she and Abby were not the same person. Even more strange is the fact that I was adopted and have no true biological ties with either of my parents, which is the thing that left me so unsettled. If I were to have the same father in both lives, why then would I not have the same mother? Also, how was it biologically possible for me to look the same?  So with all of these new variables in the equation, and as a numbers person, I was furiously confused.  Like, biologically, what the fuck?  I’ve always loved waking up in the morning and being so emotionally and mentally overwhelmed that all of my thoughts end in ‘what the fuck’.  Just gives a girl peace of mind.

So at this point, thoroughly jarred, I ran out of my place without even making coffee or actually getting dressed; I just threw on my jacket and ran out the door.  Worth mentioning - only for the sake of drama - it was about March, which is autumn for us Aussies, and I would like to mention that a tank top, shorts, slippers, and a jacket does not good motorcycle gear make.  It was damn cold, but getting to my father as soon as I possibly could was important.  

Looking back now, I know this was probably the first action that having Clarke effected, because I was not ever so reckless with urgency.  Clarke fucking Griffin, everyone.

On top of the cold air beating against me, my heart was a mess - like a seven whiskies in kind of a mess.  I was physically very awake, but mentally languid and broken.  I was on the verge of tears feeling like this reunion with my father was never meant to be - now, you and I can very clearly understand why, but at this point in my life I had gone to sleep after a typical day of working at his side and parting ways after tea, but woke up feeling like it had been ages and impossibly unlikely to ever see him again.  It was beyond weird and verged on psychotic.  My brain had so many questions and my heart couldn’t keep up with the range of possibilities.

I needed to know what was going on and tried to keep the multitude of questions at bay until I could speak to the one man who was level-headed enough to gently quell me in any lifetime. Unfortunately, packing up all of these questions for him, left one little thing free to roam right back into my heart and mind like a flood - something that the sheer shock and confusion of my own damn genealogy had allowed me to briefly leave unearthed.  

Lexa.

—

I pulled off to the side of the road, muttering expletives under my breath. The panic started with just Lexa; I remembered loving and losing her all too soon, but it felt like this fresh new thing - mainly because, for me, it was. Even in my flurry of new emotions I did have to admit that Clarke had landed a gem - get it, ‘landed’… whatever, I know it was half-baked. Anyway, I’d always been the kind of girl who didn’t have long term needs and sought out short term wants. Not for any damaged reason or anything, but simply because that’s what I fucking wanted. So feeling love and heartbreak all at once, was absolutely terrifying. 

“Holy shit. What the fuck, Clarke?” I said out loud to absolutely no one on the side of the road, pushing my fingers flat against my eyelids to keep out all of the images racing through my head. Now, I said it started with Lexa, because she was Clarke’s last love, and the one she grieved for and chose not to replace, but I also remembered Finn and I remembered Wells. I remembered everyone. Finn, the person who opened Clarke’s eyes to color for the first time and pulled her away from her black and white world, and the person who got pulled into something that changed him forever. And Wells, her best friend who only ever did right by her and loved her so much, but was taken away for the actions of his father - to whom he was only ever obedient. All three of them loved and cherished - although none truly knew how much because Clarke was a hot fucking mess - and all three of them murdered. Like, they were all fucking murdered - Lexa, right in front of her. And Finn, literally by her own hand. That is some fucked up shit that I had not at all been prepared to take on that morning. My chest tightened up and I couldn’t breathe. 

My hands clenched into fists and my eyes forced shut, demanding these horrible memories away. I had never experienced this injustice in my life; I was not prepared for the absolutely morbid tragedy of Clarke Griffin’s traumatic life. Now I know there was good too, but since she’s me or my soul or whatever, I have the right to say that it was tragic as fuck - but you better believe I’d knock a bitch out who had the audacity to say something like that if that person weren’t myself. 

Prior to this, I’d been a privileged, accepted woman and realised very quickly just how easily I had it, by comparison. I gritted my teeth willing the tears to stay within my eyelids - because I’m a hardass who doesn’t cry - but they came anyway. I think I probably said ‘fuck’ enough times right then to break some record. I started pacing, shuffling back and forth in my slippers, kicking up the gravel dust and trying to breathe again.

“They don’t exist here. They don’t exist here.” I repeated it over and over, voice cracking, and trying to shake out the cold as well as all of these weird left over - yet new - emotions from some life that wasn’t mine. Although the repetition of that phrase made me feel more alone than I’d ever felt, the thought that they might exist made want to throw up - so crazy repetition it was.

I jumped up and down in place shaking my arms loosely like a wrestler getting ready to smash against some other body, aiming to be the last one with their back on the mat. “Fucking buck up, Elyza. Cool your fucking tits.” This, by the way, is the type of motivational commentary that would make me a wonderful coach or mother or leader of any kind, and with that I spitefully wiped my treacherous eyes - so dramatic - and got back on my bike. 

Pulling back into the real world, I wondered how many people had passed me, pacing on the side of the road with my hands on my eyes, swearing, while only wearing pyjamas next to a motorcycle. The thought gave me some momentary separation from Clarke and her tragic, traumatic life and for the first time that morning, I laughed. It was a good, cathartic kind of laugh, but one that didn’t tailspin into craziness and tears; it simply made me feel like me again, which was a relief because Clarke’s life was literally the worst - again, that’s only okay if I say it.

—

The trip, from my place to my father’s farm is about a 10 minute ride - which I realise makes me seem like such a soft little bitch for having to stop and cry on the side of the road. I pulled into the drive, and hated how some minuscule part of me felt as though I’d never seen it. I opened the door with more force than was meant and even startled myself with the sound. My dad came storming round the corner with a baseball bat and toothbrush in hand. At the sight of him, the fucking tears came again - despite my best efforts - and all I could do was come to a full stop and practically shout ‘son of a bitch’ as my hands shot to my eyes again.

“Elyza, what in the world?” While I stood there like an ass, knowing the question he posed was an impossible one to answer and might as well have been rhetorical, I tried to focus on just breathing and listening to his voice and following the sounds of his movements. I heard him walk away and put the bat on or against something as well as the tiny clack of the toothbrush being placed somewhere. Even his startled exclamation was enough to get me steadily calmer.

He walked back over to me and gently grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. I jumped at his touch and felt him loosen his grip, slightly. I opened my eyes, slowly, and he just looked at me with slight concern but otherwise expressionless. This was always his way. My father wasn’t a confrontational talker; he had an innate understanding of people and problem solving but only ever exerted his opinion when asked and begged for… which is why I do the wheeling and dealing around here. The man has always been too trusting, in this life and the last - or next? either way.

I let out a breath of exhausted emotions and sighed, “Have any coffee?” Right to the point. Brilliant, Elyza. My father didn’t nod or show any acknowledgement of hearing me, but I knew to just go to the couch and sit down. He’d be back with coffee and unwavering eyes momentarily. 

He walked back in with two mugs in hand, casually passed one over and sat opposite me on the couch. The warmth of the mug felt so drastically different than the cold side of the road and I swallowed back the leftover emotion and breathed in some fresh clarity.

“I’ve had a hell of a morning, Dad. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with the ‘w’s, kiddo.” No surprises with this guy. This was how he asked all questions - and that is by not fucking asking them. Although this time around, I was too emotionally scattered to deal with this slowly and calmly - which by the way was always his preferred way to do everything.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, my preferred preparation tactic while mulling over my verbal attack. “Alright. Clarke Griffin. Fucking crazy dream memories. The goddamn future! Fucking space! And Who the fuck knows!” Subtle. I know. I’m a sight to behold. By the end of my tirade I was standing in the middle of the room with my arms spread wide with panicked breathing. To my surprise, he got up immediately and rushed to my side.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. Breathe, Elyza.” He looked almost smug but his eyes, for once, deceived him because they looked relieved but almost as wildly frantic as mine. “It’s okay.”

I knew that last ‘okay’ wasn’t really for me; I squinted my eyes at him slowly, my breathing practically halting, “That name does mean something. What the hell is going on?” I almost fell backward. My breathing became erratic again, knowing that whatever was in my head was likely in his too. This seemingly impossible alternate universe, was possible. I had been alive before. Had I died too? Did my subconscious jump to our reality? This was all way too much for logic.

"Does that name mean anything to you?" I asked forcefully after I decided he'd been silent too long. He held onto my shoulders and steadied me again, just looking at me until I found my calm. I nodded at him when I felt capable, already knowing what his answer would be, and I needed that answer so badly - drama. I just desperately needed him to say yes, so that my brain could just stop trying to form a logical way out, because there wasn't a 'logical way' to be found. 

At long last he spoke again, “Eez, we’ll get to all of the answers. In short… yes. But - ”

“Fuck. Fuck!” And cue the pacing. “Can we, for the love of all that is holy, do this in the least vague way possible?” 

He chuckled at my impatience while I slowly regained some non-crazy momentum. “Okay. Okay, I’m going to refill my coffee. We are going to sit down and you are going to tell me everything,” I disappeared around the corner, into the kitchen, and shouted back to him - for good measure, “without interruption!”

“Not likely, kiddo!” Well, I mean, at least he gets me.

I filled my coffee cup - a little cream. No sugar. You gotta know the important stuff right? - and paused for just one moment of privacy. I took a breath to reset myself - figuratively, emotionally, mentally, etc. Going back into that room meant that every perspective and idea I had about what my life looked like, would never really be the same - but silver lining! At least Clarke had good taste in women.

I eventually walked back in and returned to my seat on the sofa, composed as ever. “Okay. Dish, old man. This is either some really messed up psychological, memory altering, sci-fi shit… or it’s the unthinkably impossible sci-fi shit. Both are a little bit much right now, so be gentle.” I have always been overly upfront with my emotions - or lack thereof - when it's beneficial to me. Truthfully, that frankness has always helped me keep as far away from vulnerability as possible. And vulnerability, of all the things I’ve experienced, is worst enemy of all.

My dad looked at me shaking his head slightly, as if in disbelief - an emotion as unfamiliar to him, as deep romantic love had been to me about 30 minutes ago. He took a few breaths trying to figure out where to start, and when he found his resolve he looked me right in the eyes and spoke. “I remembered a little over 10 years ago.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Elyza as a character, and this chapter was perfect to set up Elyza's opinion of Clarke's life and being 'Clarked up'
> 
> Let me know what you think! - I am trying to make this a once a week deal, for the record. Thank you so much for the support thus far!!  
> And of course I own none of the characters and plot derived from 'The 100' or 'Fear the Walking Dead'

I let out a long breath I had unknowingly been holding, allowing this new reality to take root and muttered, “10 years. Fuck. So, at like 40, yeah?” He’d known for 10 years. Years! He had successfully kept that from me for 10 years, and there I was practically kicking down his door after having known for maybe 30 minutes. The patience of this man had always been astounding.

For the first time that morning, he smiled. “I told you.”

“Shut up.” And for the second time that morning I did the same. “Okay, no more interruptions. I promise.” He and I both knew it wasn’t true. 

“Yes, when I was 40 - since that’s so important to you - I remembered it all. Jake, Clarke, Abby, everyone. Everything.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I have always been this terribly impatient, yes. I think it’s added to my charm over the years.

“Elyza, this is going to take all day if you interrupt me after every sentence. Would you like me to outline it all for you?” He edged out the last sentence with the subtlest mockery. This got a swift eye roll from me, but I let it pass because honestly it was exactly what I have always, always fucking needed: a plan. “I’ll start with the last thing I remember as Jake, and how that started to change me - as Chrys - up until right now.”

“Wonderful, let’s get at it.” I looked at him expectantly and he let out a short breath and crossed one of his hands over the other.

“For me, I don’t exactly have a finite last memory; after a certain point, Jake becomes pretty fuzzy. I remember finding a huge problem in the Ark’s air supply and finding a surprising amount of conflict in whether or not the public should know - which for me as Chrys was completely understandable. I wouldn’t have wanted to tell everyone the way Jake did. A bit rash for my taste, but he’s a much bolder man than I.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. In the fucking most suspenseful story he could ever tell, Chrys Abiga - the man, the mystery - decided to pause for a coffee break. I mean already my heart was pounding at the similarity of our experiences and the questions were piling in my mouth ready to burst and he stops talking. With the most patience I’ve ever exerted in my life, I sat in silence and tried not to fidget.

“Let’s see, I remember making the video, and that’s when things get a little more broken up. It becomes much less visual and mental, but still vividly emotional." I nodded in agreement, thinking about Clarke's life. I couldn't really think of a finite memory; there was a lot of fuzziness.

"I remember being scared and angry knowing you - or Clarke, I suppose - were in the middle of something bigger than our family and hoped that Abby would see the truth in the way this was hurting you. I felt extremely guilty for putting you in that situation, but also knew that it was something that had to be done in order to enact the changes that needed to happen, in order for you to actually live a full life. I don’t really remember much, visually, after that.” He sat up a little straighter, like coming back to this reality and shrugged a little. He ran his hand through his hair and looked at me with a small smile - I could tell, he was so fucking relieved to be telling me all of this, but that meant he’d never talked to anyone else about it, which meant that we were likely alone. I returned his smile, crestfallen at my plummeted hopes - drama - and he continued.

“The morning I remembered everything, I awoke in a practically feverish sweat. I think the first thing I did was go outside - it was still dark, but I just had to get out there. It all felt so new and perfect, which absolutely bewildered me. It was if Jake was in charge momentarily and the only thing he could manage was to walk outside and finally plant his feet in the earth.”

“But doesn’t that just scare the shit out of you? I mean, to have this person kind of inside you, and having new desires and needs that don’t seem to belong to you? You just let him in that easily?” You should be proud that I stopped at three questions. I’m also sure you’re unsurprised at my hesitance to let Clarke in; we both know she’d do the same. Clarlyza points for everyone? Anyway, this was - and sometimes still is - the thing that irked me most. I hated that Clarke had even slightly altered my motivations and actions - kindly see the previously mentioned aversion to vulnerability - and there my father was just letting Jake in like he ran some hippie compound.

“I didn’t really question the fact that these were memories from another life, but the emotion of it all was a lot to handle; I of course tried to discretely find out if something of this nature had been previously documented, but with little success. It felt too strange to be just a dream, and I’ve never been one to rule out anything simply because it’s never happened - to my knowledge - before. I kind of liked the idea of just taking Jake in and allowing his experiences to garner growth in my own life.” Of course he fucking did. 

At this point I had to actively keep myself from smiling - not because I thought his introspection was ridiculous. It was more like the kind of smile that happens when you know someone so truly and they do or say something that belongs solely and uniquely to them, and you want to smile because it feels like it’s your own little secret that you don’t want them to know. And I mean that in the least sentimental way possible - I’m super tough, okay. 

His overt nobility and welcoming introspection on this whole fucked up mess did somewhat help quell my hesitance to accept Clarke as part of myself, rather than see her as some sort of leech - at least momentarily. I mean at that point, temporary peace of mind was better than nothing.

“Truthfully, everything was fairly easy to accept, except for the ‘why’.” Cue the unsurprised eye roll. “I know, I know, Eez. But you shouldn’t be shocked that even with myself, I start with the ‘w’s. I just couldn’t wrap my head around why I remembered any of it. To what purpose? If this were my personal ‘second chance’ or ‘afterlife’ and whatever the case may be, why would I not have the same parents as Jake, why would I not be in love with the same woman? Why didn’t you remember too? If I got to have you in both lives, where was Abby in this one?” 

“For fucking real!” I couldn’t help myself. He smiled slightly and looked at me though with eyes still full of questions and gave me a shrug. “Only a little unnerving.”

After a little pause, he smiled again and added, “You’ll enjoy this, though; remember when you were younger and I started dating?” He waited expectantly and noticed my eyes widen with a smile creeping up on my face. “And the puzzle begins to connect.” He added.

It was like one of those knee-slapping, ah-ha moments. I had always wanted him to date as a child, and then out of nowhere he suddenly expressed interest in it too. But when he actually sort of did for a while it was super weird. The older I got, the more I realised that he was just not the dating type. I mean he’s a handsome guy, don’t get me wrong, but he just did not seem to want to be around any of these people he ‘dated’. He had always just been way too internalised and serious to want another romantic companion. It just seemed right, the two of us. 

But at that moment I saw what was really going on; he wasn’t trying to find someone knew, he was trying to find someone he lost a lifetime ago - see what I did there, with the words? I know; I’m beyond clever.

“I was looking for her, kiddo. I wanted and hoped that Abby was here in this world somewhere. I will say, the fact that you didn’t remember made the idea of Abby’s existence much less hopeful. Actually, the fact that you didn’t remember infuriated me, because - like I said - it gave me absolutely no reason as to why the memories came to me at all. I could derive no purpose from them. And yet… I searched. Beyond all logic, I searched for her. I started kind of blindly, just going to bars and events trying spot her. Then I tried to find any Abigail Griffins nearby, to no avail.” I let out a small chuckle and shook my head at his terrible plan. He stopped his train of thought to look at me, a smile growing on his face.

“That is the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard, Dad.” He let out a loud, brief laugh. “You actually thought her name would be Abigail Griffin, when your name - and my name - are nowhere close to being the same?"

“I admit, I admit it! It was a terrible plan. But initially, I was acting on all instinct and tenacity. My world had just been turned upside down and I needed someone to confide in! So I just went. After my initial failures, I got a little more logical, don’t worry. One of my early theories - because of course I needed to find a purpose - was that maybe her last name would be similar to Jake or Jacob, with my last name being so close to Abigail.” He let out a laugh, thinking his theory was absurd, and I let out a gasp of realisation. “But I -”

“Holy shit. You’re right.” I stood up again, looking at him with wide eyes - the drama is tangible - my brain was moving faster than I could form words. The emotions rose in my throat, as managed to squeak out, “Fuck. She could - she could be here. Oh my god.” 

My father looked at me, bewildered. “Eez, she may be here, but I’ve -” He stopped speaking as soon as he looked at my eyes - that had once again betrayed me - as they filled with tears. I looked up, willing the tears to just absorb back into their damned sockets. “This isn’t about Abby.” He said without any hint of question in his voice.

I breathed out and once again met his eyes, and shook my head. “Short answer - no.” I once again squeaked - my entire body betrayed me like a little bitch.

He quickly stood up and wrapped me up in a comforting hug. “We can come back to all of the questions later. Let’s just give you some time to tell me about Clarke, okay? I’d be lying if I said I weren’t curious; I would love to know about her life.” I nodded into his shoulder taking in all of the calm he could give me. “Great. First, I’ll make some breakfast and we’ll get back at it, alright?”

He pulled away from his embrace, and his hands rested on my shoulders. The slightest corner of his mouth turned up, and he walked away and into the kitchen. I stood there, listening to different items clanging around in his preparation and finally took a moment to think in secret on the possibility of Lexa truly existing, but fought the idea back because Lexa was not mine, she was Clarke’s… and yet just like my father, I wanted to find her. I wanted her even though I didn’t know her - Clarke knew her. Not me. 

I sat back down on the couch and closed my eyes, forcing Clarke away.

—

I must have fallen asleep - probably as a result of my body being literally incapable of handling anymore fuckery - because the next thing I knew, my father was sitting back in his spot eating the breakfast he made, and before I could even protest at the absence of my own, he gestured to the coffee table where it sat, still warm.

“Thank you.” I said. He nodded and we ate in exhausted silence.

“Alright, Eez. Tell me about Clarke. Tell me what happened after - well… I assume that maybe I died?” He said as he put down his plate. I nodded solemnly and the thought of his death made me feel a little queasy and reminded me how terrible Clarke’s life was and how rough of a story this could potentially be.

“You did die, as a result of the whole oxygen conflict - which you ended up being completely right about; I guess being dead was the easiest way to keep Jake quiet - no offense. There were some high stakes in that world.” I shook my head. I didn’t even know where to begin. How do you tell your gentle, loving father that your other self - the one that now currently has a strange pull in your own life - got to Earth and had a hand in the deaths of over 600 people? This world is not like that one. Saying those things out loud, just felt impossible. If I’m being honest, I feel like the Clarkiest part of me just didn’t want to see her dad look at her like the Wanheda she felt herself to be.

So in true Elyza fashion, I protected the both us with verbal nonchalance. “Oh boy. Well I’ll forewarn you, everything just got increasingly fucked up for her after you died - and I mean that in the most sensitive way possible.” Yes, Elyza, redirect those feelings. What a champ.

“Elyza.” He said, offended.

“That was the warning! I mean, after that video was released everything changed! I can’t say that none of it was Jake’s fault, but he had very little to do with any of the things that happened to Clarke in the years following his death. Is that better?” He gave a sarcastic nod. “Do you want to know about your death?” I tried to say it as sensitively as possible, but I’m pretty sure it came off as eager - which may have had a sliver of truth considering I had successfully maneuvered the conversation away from my feelings, but whatever. He pondered the idea for a few minutes before finally speaking.

“Only if we got to say goodbye.” This guy.

“Okay.” I leaned back to get comfortable before I began the dramatic journey of Clarke’s life. “Everything was pretty crazy around the time of the video. We did get to say goodbye before your death though. They decided that they didn’t want anyone to know about the air crisis and you were floated for it; Abby and I were there -”

“They made you watch?!”

“Now who’s interrupting?” I added sarcastically. “They didn’t force me to to be there. Clarke needed to be, to say goodbye; you should know she’d be stubborn enough. She was your daughter, after all. Anyway, Clarke was arrested immediately after and put in solitary confinement so she would keep her pretty little mouth shut. I know, dad… It’s so beyond fucked up, but we haven’t even hit the surface of fucked up, yet - damn that’s a good pun. I should have saved it for later.” He looked at me confused. “Well we got to Earth, which was definitely the ‘surface of fucked up’. Get it?”

“You got to Earth?!” My poor father. I have never had much tact.

“Yeah, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.” I’m sure this comes as no surprise to all of you still following along at home.

“Right, so Clarke was in solitary for a year, and meanwhile the powers that be were devising a solution to the issue you discovered. Basically, they needed less people on the Ark in order for the people to survive a little longer. So, in the best plan since you tried to find Abigail Griffin in our world by looking up all Abigail Griffin’s - in the phone book, probably - they decided to send 100 fucking criminal delinquents down to the surface of the Earth to see if it could be inhabited. No adults, mind you. Just kids. Kids who hated ‘the man’ and had already gotten themselves into tons of trouble, and who now felt like the expendable test subjects, meant to die; it was the responsible thing to do.” I paused, and my father had his forefinger and thumb rubbing the bridge of his nose. I couldn’t help but laugh at his frustration.

“This is just completely beyond me. I feel so angry about this; that was not supposed to be your life.” 

“It’s not, Dad. It was Clarke’s life. I am still living mine. Although you may prefer to take Jake in like a lost puppy, I accept Clarke as my past and leave it at that, okay? I'm still just me... I will admit that I’m having a more difficult time pushing down her emotional baggage, though.”

“Oh, do you mean that person you were crying about earlier? Looks less like baggage and a lot like love to me.” Even his sarcasm was gentle. He always spoke with such a fluid, even cadence, and very rarely was the volume of his voice raised for any expression of emotion. Plus, it was always our running joke that he pretended to be the stereotypical mother figure trying to pressure their daughter into love and marriage - since characteristically, we lived quite the opposite lives.

I gently kicked his foot, “Low blow, old man. How about you let me continue this shit show,” I noticed the slight look of guilt on his face and thought I should be a little more gentle with his feelings momentarily - I know; super heroic and selfless. The epitome of beauty and grace. 

“Okay, not a shit show. Clarke’s life was… turbulent, but she was always so brave and bold, just like Jake. She felt deeply, loved fully - although often too late, as it would fucking seem. Again, we're ahead of ourselves. - and she went through a lot in her lifetime, but I think you would’ve been proud of her for the most part - although she did have a slight tendency to be a little shit. Her sass would give me a run for my money sometimes.” I said with a small grin accompanied by raised eyebrows meant to lighten the mood.

He smiled with a soft exhale, “Thank you. So what happened when you got to Earth? Did all hell break loose?”

“You could definitely say is was a bit Lord of the Flies-esque. There were a handful of us that were level-headed and not swayed by the mob mentality of it all. Wells Jaha was down there, for one, after finding a way to imprison himself so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“I have’t thought about that boy in a long time, but that doesn’t surprise me.” He added nostalgically.

“Clarke was so pissed at him when they got to Earth. She thought he was responsible for turning you in and your death, and even though he wasn’t, he took on that blame anyway. I so wish now that I would have - that Clarke would have - just given him a second chance. But also, he shouldn’t have been so damn heroic.” There’s Elyza I know and love. “Anyway, a small group of us focused on finding water and food while the others were doing whatever the hell they wanted.” I added sarcastically, realising my implications. Bellamy. I thought of him fondly and hoped he was somewhere with his mother and Octavia, unburdened in some new world like me - and hopefully making better decisions.

“There was a constant power struggle - that I'm sure you're unsurprised was partially headed by Clarke - but soon we found out we weren’t alone and that was a bigger can of worms than we thought we'd encounter.” He looked shocked - of course - but waited patiently while I spoke. “There were people that had been living on the Earth since the beginning, and they gave themselves a startlingly violent introduction - to which we violently responded. With the lack of communication to the Ark as well as the new fear and threat of not being alone, every rule and moral went out the window, but of course Clarke fucking wanted to lead and fix it all.” 

My heart was once again beating more rapidly than I’d have liked and I realised that this story could not be told in it’s entirety. I swallowed my pride - a very difficult undertaking - and got what I could out of my system. “Wells was murdered by one of our own -” Words suddenly became choked and the heat was raising behind my eyes. “Fuck. I never - she never - got to say goodbye. She lost so many people, Dad. It's all so much.”

“Eez, you don’t have to talk about it; I’m sorry.”

“I can’t today. I think I just need some time to process and stuff, you know? It's a bit exhausting”

“Of course.”

“That way I don’t break down every 5 seconds like a little bitch. She’s messed me up, Dad.” He looked at me as if that’s not what he thought about the matter, but he of course didn’t say a thing about it. Typical Chrys.

"But so you know," I added after a long silence. "her name was Lexa.”

“And the puzzle begins to connect.” He added contentedly. There was a certain fierceness in his eyes at that moment, it was like I had reopened or birthed new hope into something in which he had deemed purposeless, and - as expected - he let that excitement sit untouched for the sake of my peace of mind.

“I’m sure we’ll get to her eventually, but for today just know that there was someone who - among and despite all of the shit that was going on in that fucked up world - saw exactly who Clarke was, and loved her so much more than I can explain.” There those tears were again, straining my voice and threatening to reach my eyes. I closed them and took a deep breath, maybe trying to simply accept these new things - or at least definitely trying to fool myself into thinking I had. “She was definitely the type of girl you’d bring home to meet your parents. Jake would have loved her for sure.”

“I expect I would have.” He said with a smile. “I do have one more question for you, though… if it’s alright?”

“Just one.” I replied with a wink.

“Where did Clarke and the criminals land?”

“First of all, fantastic band name. And to answer your question, near Mount Weather? I don’t exactly know where that is, but it’s probably like 100km from Washington DC in some direction? We were kind of all over that area. Why?”

“How would you feel about taking a trip?” He asked, with that same excitement I'd seen in his eyes.

“I thought you were only going to ask one question?” I smirked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been about a week since Elyza remembers being Clarke Griffin.
> 
> She's pretty stubborn, and pretty bitter. She's also going to going to take coping with Clarke into her own hands, and find Elyza-like solutions for her problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wanted to get to the flight in this chapter, but did not. The chapter got far too long, so I split it in half and really like where it went. I think it's key to understand that Elyza is in no way perfect, although writing in her perspective lends bias her way.
> 
> We meet some new people and I'm very interested to know what you think!
> 
> And of course I make no claims to own any of the characters or plot derived from 'The 100' or 'Fear the Walking Dead'

To everyone’s surprise I was keen to go on the trip abroad. We decided to give it three weeks before heading out, in order to tidy up some work things back home - and more importantly, for me to tidy up some personal things that Clarke had lovingly fucked up.

Fortunately, my dad and I had agreed not to talk about Clarke again until our wonderful 14 hour flight to LAX - gotta love a plan - so I had time to sort a few things out. After the very dramatic morning that I spoke with him, I had been trying to prove my independence to myself by taking on Clarke with as much control as possible - surprise - which mostly just consisted of me convincing myself she had no hold on me, and being more obnoxiously Elyza than ever.

The dreams were the worst part. I woke up almost every fucking night remembering loved ones dying or mass casualties of war - wonderful things like that.

Almost a week after our conversation I changed my tune a bit and started trying to ‘spend time with Clarke’ - and what I mean by that is ‘do shit that Clarke would do and make sure you’re still you’. It also meant ‘be less bitter’. I thought maybe the dreams would subside if I sort of - being the key words - stopped fighting her so much. Anyway, the true aim was to see if I could get a damned restful night of sleep - but also to find out if I had any new skills to go with my traumatic memories. I might as well find some benefit of having her if she insisted on haunting me - silver linings for everyone.

My first endeavor was drawing; it seemed like a simple enough task, very noninvasive and peaceful. Plus, you and I both know how skilled Clarke was in the arts, so I figured I’d see what happened if I sat down with some pencils and paper. I’ve never been the artistic type or needed that form of expression - alcohol and sarcasm worked plenty well for me - but I thought maybe it would be fun to try, and at least a little bit impressive if I somehow osmosised her talent.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t fucking fun.

I rode out to a lovely area with some drawing stuff and figured I’d have a go at landscape drawing. I found a location that I thought looked alright - although what did I really know - sat down on a bench, got my supplies out and attempted to start. The pad of paper felt heavy and awkward in my lap and I couldn’t find a comfortable position for it. So,I crossed my legs, in hopes that it would be better - it wasn’t by much, but I grew impatient. I should have taken this as a warning sign but I - as well as Clarke - have always been a tad too persistent.

I mean, I did eventually start actually drawing after some excessive fidgeting and settling; the weird thing was that I felt like I had the know how, but not the actual desire to do it - which I suppose really isn’t too weird because that’s how I would describe a lot of my motivational process. Whatever.

In my mind I knew the right proportions and depth of what I wanted to draw and I put the pencil to paper - and made beautiful strokes - but hated the way it sounded in my ears, the pencil scratching at different frequencies of the pushing and pulling against the page.

I felt like that described - in my mind - the differences between Clarke and I perfectly, which sort of pissed me the fuck off. The whole drawing experience lasted all of ten minutes because I just don’t have the patience for that shit and I was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been - not to mention, pissed at Clarke.

She did many beautiful things, but I couldn’t handle the sound - or more accurately the fucking flood of her memories. I sat there on my bench, but I could also feel the hard, cold metal from her cell in the Ark and felt alone. I sat there on my bench, but I could also feel the leather armchair, the warmth from the candles and I felt safe. The memories weren’t ever really linear or visual; they would happen - kind of jumbled together - mostly emotional, weirdly tactile, and always overwhelming. Call me up next time you have weird past-life tactile memories and we can chat.

So as I uncomfortably sat and scratched away at paper, drawing trees and other shit, in an attempt to relieve the tension haunting my dreams - cue the dramatic music - I felt more unlike myself than ever before. I felt vulnerable.

“Fuck this.” I muttered, and threw everything back in my bag and walked back to my bike. I put on my helmet - I did typically wear one, for the record. Safety first - and decided I’d test Clarke’s ability to handle alcohol instead. Healthy coping skills, for sure.

—

“Alright Matty, give me a pint of literally anything.” I said, smacking the bartop as I sat in my usual spot.

“Bit early for you to be in, Eezy,” Matt chuckled, filling up my pint. “Have you even had tea?”

“Figured the responsible thing to do was just drink enough pints to cover those calories and then some. Planning on a big night anyway, and I gotta keep my figure. Two birds.”

“Alright, mate. No worries.” I’d been coming to this place, consistently, for years, and Matt was one of my closest mates.

He placed my drink in front of me and I added, “Okay Matty, you know the deal. If you see anyone walk in that’s my type, give her a drink on my tab. It’s been too long and I need an adventure - and don’t go giving her the most expensive drink you have alright; I’m budgeting.” I winked. “The plan tonight is that you’re either going to carry me out of here, or I’m going to walk out those doors with a stranger; either way, I’m not leaving by myself.” He laughed, accepting his wingman role and the night began.

I was a little over halfway through my second pint when I heard Matt say, “Alright, who’s thirsty?” Those were our key words - I guess I should have mentioned this before. Brilliant storytelling, Elyza. 

My ‘game’ was pretty simple: Matt would see a woman he knew I’d like and produce a drink for them as soon as they sat down, and tell them it was from me. When said woman I would like entered the pub, Matt would say ‘alright, who’s thirsty’ to make me aware that a woman was about to receive a drink on my behalf.

Okay, we’re gonna pause the story for a quick lesson in being fucking suave as hell. 

——

There are two absolutes in being as alluring as me - I’m allowed to be cocky because I have an incredible success rate; take it or leave it. The first being: it is one-hundred percent necessary and key to any amount of ‘game’ -as it were - to have an impeccably wonderful wing-person. 

Matty, my wingman, knew my type and knew how to be discreet enough to bring the woman a drink, as soon as she sat down, without making a show of it - and without using any cheesy lines. Cheesy lines should only be saved for sarcasm and used by the interested party - that is not an absolute but it’s a damn good tip. Another tip would be knowing what is cheesy and what isn’t, but that’s an entirely different chapter.

The next absolute is so simple and easy, but unfortunately fucked up far too often - now, it must be said that this tactic is my ‘game’, it’s what I always did and I’d perfected it. It’s not the only way, but it’s a damn good one. Okay, absolute number two: when the woman receives the drink, you fucking wait until the bartender walks away before you look over at her. If - and only if - you make eye contact, tip your beer slightly with a single nod of your head and then face forward again. It’s about nonchalance.

Do not say anything.

Do not raise or reach out your hand to ‘cheers’ her.

The nod is one nod, down - not up - then you look forward and that is it. 

You do not look back over to her. 

You do not buy her another drink. 

You do not talk to her.

You leave it up to her.

This is like ‘Field of Dreams’ people - if you build it, they will come. Ray didn’t fucking send invites to every dead person and then find a field to play in, and he definitely wasn’t begging the ghosts to come play with him. He set up the arena for the game to take place, and then the shit happens. That’s what you have to do; you set up the arena and wait for her come - and I definitely mean that in more ways than one.

——

Okay, lesson over. Back to the example - spoiler alert - of this totally working.

I looked up at Matt as he grabbed a glass, filled it with the same beer I was drinking - that cheeky devil - and watched until he left my peripherals, not averting my eyes from the bottles lining the bar wall. I listened closely and waited for my cue.

“Enjoy.” I heard him say; now if she didn’t accept the drink, he’d say ’No worries. What can i get you instead?’ and comically down the drink in front of the affronted woman - he was always so fucking brilliant. Damn do I miss that man. But in this instance she apparently accepted and I heard him turn and walk away, which was my cue.

I looked over from where I sat and immediately met a pair of beautifully dark eyes. I tipped my drink and gave her a nod - the speed of which is much more difficult to master, but we’ll save that lesson for another day - and went back to my business, tearing myself away from her slight smirk. This part is the hardest, especially since Matty picked a woman as beautiful as he did - god bless him, wherever he is. She had deliciously caramel skin with freckles spotted about cheeks, and beautiful curls that went in every direction - but I waited patiently and drank my beer.

“Matty, could you fill me up in a minute?” I asked him a bit later, as I found I’d reached the bottom of the glass again. He nodded but then walked away. 

When he came back, he had a coy smile on his face and a new pint for me. “This drink is curtesy of the woman at the end of the bar.” He said.

Okay, another pause.

——

Alright folks at home, lesson back on. This means that the ‘game’ is on and it is of utter importance that you handle round two with the utmost care. You left the ball in her court and now she’s passing it back and you better fucking catch it. 

Honestly, I don’t have many rules here except for reciprocation. 

If she plays your coy game then you give coy back. If she immediately walks over and starts chatting you up, you chat back. The game can only be played with ‘gives’ - it’s not a give and take. 

She gives, you give. She stops giving, you stop giving. 

——

Anyway. Lesson over, officially.

I took the drink, and smirked at Matt, who swiftly walked away - seriously there is not a better goddam wingman out there - and I looked over to the lovely lady across the bar. We made eye contact; she licked her lips and tipped her glass just slightly. I, still smirking, gave my tip-of-the-glass and nod again - but kept my eyes on her - to which she responded with the shake of her head and smile that broke through her coy play. 

She got up from her seat and walked over to me, and I turned my eyes back to my beer, smiling as I took a drink - that part is important; don’t watch her come to you and give yourself away. Keep casual. Desperation is the most unattractive thing.

She pulled up in the seat next to me, lightly brushing against my arm when she set her beer down - she was good at this too, which meant I was in for a good night, if things went well. “So do you buy drinks for every woman who walks into the bar?”

“Do you return the favor of every drink that’s been bought for you?” I asked, finally looking over to the woman next to me with a smug grin on my face.

“It’s very clever, you know.” She added and took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, I do.” I responded, not missing a beat.

“Beautiful and humble, what a combination!” She said with a chuckle.

I laughed at her response, “You caught me. I’m Elyza, by the way - just to give you a name for the face, tomorrow.” I winked jokingly. The line was cheesy and bold, and delivered it in an unserious way - which in my opinion is the one and only way cheesy lines should be used. Trust me, if you’re using them seriously it’s not working for you, and if you think it is there’s probably some pity thrown in there somewhere. I’m just calling it as I see it.

She chuckled again, “And probably a lot of trouble, if I were the type to care. I’m Nathalie.” Whatever deity I had fallen into good graces with, I vowed to worship forever.

“Pleasure.” I said fully turning toward her for the first time to reach out my hand. She offered hers back with a smile and I took brief note of how warm and soft they were. She had on a sage jumper - sleeves pushed up - and incredibly tight grey jeans with the perfect white derbies to finish off her look. Simply stunning. “You look incredible, by the way. Matty did a wonderful job.” I finished with a smirk.

She laughed again, “Thank you. Although I don’t know where I fall into the lines of sincerity, since you’re clearly such a womaniser.”

“Definitely sincere; I’m not exactly subtle enough to pull off false attraction.” She smiled again and looked down at me. I was wearing my signature black leather jacket, black jeans, and Docs - I was fashionable too, you know. I probably had on some band t-shirt, I don’t remember. When I saw her smirk turn into a begrudging smile and I knew I’d hit the gold mine.

“You’re a bikie?” It never hurts to ride a motorcycle, mates.

“Depends,” I said, smugly. “Is that going to make you more or less into me?”

“I imagine you’ve already got the answer to that.”

This girl. “Well, how about we get ourselves another drink and then I’ll give you a ride. Anywhere you’d like.”

She agreed and we talked over the next drink; it was small talk, but talk nonetheless. What do you do? Where’d you study? Are you from around here? So many questions and so many unimportant answers.

—

She set down her glass definitively and looked at me after finishing her drink, “So. How about that ride? I have a place in mind and I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“Is it your place?” At this point I’m not even going to make excuses, but whatever - I’m also respectful of rejection so it all works out.

She stood up, placing a hand against the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” With that she turned to head out the door, and all of a sudden I was following her like a puppy and throwing cash at Matt so as not to get left behind.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” I asked coyly, standing in front of her when I caught up with her outside.

“I haven’t, but tonight seems like a good first.” Before I could respond, she stepped closer again grabbing at the front of my jacket and placed soft lips against mine. It was a kiss meant to tease at what was to follow, gentle and sensual with her tongue lightly brushing against my top lip before she pulled away - but when I closed my eyes, reciprocating the kiss, I felt Lexa. Only for a brief second, I could smell the earthiness of that tent, and feel the pressure of Lexa’s fingertips along the back of my neck. My heart leapt into my throat, warmth rushing through me - but only for a brief second.

As Nathalie pulled away from her kiss I urged forward, wanting our lips to reconnect so that maybe the second time there would be no Lexa to interfere, but the hand that had been grabbing my jacket was now stationary. I understood her signal for me to stop and looked at her. She eyed me teasingly and whispered, “Not yet.” and brushed by me toward my bike, leaving me utterly mixed in her wake - son of a bitch.

I followed her helplessly, calculating this new risk of other worldly interruption and decided to take it on without a second thought - persistent to a fault.

As I caught up to her I took her by the hand, leading her as I swung my leg over my bike effortlessly, “You’re gonna have to hold on pretty tight.” I winked.

She stepped closer and I continued to let her use my arm as support as she nervously climbed on behind me. She got comfortable and scooted closer to me, her hands on my thighs as she pulled herself in. Her hands rose up my sides and she wrapped her arms tighter and gently spoke the directions to her place into my ear. We both laughed at how close it was - it was only about 5 minutes out, and I soaked in the embarrassment knowing she played me good.

—

We took the long way and reached her place safely - we did that silly small talk thing then too. The place looks great. Thanks I’ve been here 2 years. Where’d you move from? Is it just you? Do you want the grand tour? Etc.

I didn’t want the grand tour.

She led me into her house and closed the door behind us. She kicked off her shoes and I followed suit by unlacing mine - I feel like of any manners to follow, always follow the lead as far as shoes go. People are fucking picky about that.

She started walking into her kitchen while I was de-booting and looked over her shoulder, “Would you like a drink?”

Can we just take a minute to appreciate how subtle she is? Like, oh, you’d like me to follow you into the kitchen? My pleasure. Why didn’t you ask? Oh because you’re far too fucking charming for that. Anyway, I got up and followed her - now noticeably shorter than her, shoeless.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I replied. I can’t always be clever; I pulled this little trinket from my trunk full of cliches.

She laughed - probably because she was always clever - and replied, “No, but I figured leading you straight to my bedroom would be a little eager.” I smiled, running my tongue over my teeth. “So maybe I’ll just bring a bottle of something up for us to share, and i’ll forgo the formality of glasses?”

With that she rounded the corner and waited as she grabbed the bottle - this by the way is the last step. You wait. When you are invited into a place that is not yours, you do not make the first moves, ever. 

Moments later she appeared again with an open bottle of wine, walking past me again and stopping at the stairs. “Are you going to follow me upstairs now, or just stand in the foyer all night?”

“I’m going to do whatever you’d like”

And up the stairs we went.

I followed her all the way to her wardrobe where she set the bottle of wine down after taking a sip and turned to face me. Then there was the moment of eyes flitting back and forth from face to lips to jacket to neck, and she stepped forward, kissing me again.

This kiss was different, it wasn’t teasing; it was igniting - slow and burning. I pulled her closer, with my hand at her jawline fingering through the hair past her ears - her cheeks and hair were unbelievably soft, and up this close I very distinctly remember her smelling like jasmine. 

Her hands were toying with the hem of my t-shirt and I could feel the shivers climb up my spine when she deepened the kiss, finding my tongue with her own. We stayed in this deliciously sensual moment, tongues meeting and dancing, lips being pulled and nibbled; closer. 

But eventually, as we all know, the heat between two people just becomes too much at a certain point, and the slow, sensual burning becomes a full on fire, chasing for more things to consume. I broke away from the kiss and Nathalie let out a soft exhale - the sound of which fueled that fire even more - looking at me with dark eyes as I pushed my jacket off and onto the floor.

I reached the hem of her jumper and she assisted in lifting it swiftly over her head and it landed on the floor next to her. I took in the newly revealed skin as she hungrily reached for the belt of my pants. I lifted my shirt off and discarded it absentmindedly as I watched her undo my belt - the sounds of lusty breathing and clothes hitting the floor is a favorite of mine, and that is the only thing this room was filled with.

I leaned forward pressing my lips to her neck which resulted in another breathy exhale and slowed hands. She stood a little straighter and pressed her fingers into my hair at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. My lips and tongue explored her neck and collar bone as my hands slid down her waist; Nathalie’s exhales became more erratic as she leaned her head back and away from me, exposing as much of her neck as she could for me to capture.

This moment too reached the brink of it’s heat eventually and she lead me to her bed. She sat on its edge, looped her fingers through my belt loops an pulled me closer - so fucking sexy. My knees hit the edge of her bed and she leaned forward and kissed my stomach as she inched my pants down. My hand found her beautiful curls and gently encouraged her to continue as I watched.

She gently tugged my pants down to my thighs and broke away from my stomach for a moment to take in newly visible skin. The sound of quickened breathing was the only thing filling the room, until she slowly reached toward my hips and pulled my underwear down slightly to capture the skin below my hip bone with lips and lightly dragged teeth which caused my muscles to quickly contract and a surprised moan to escape my mouth.

“Mmmm,” She hummed into my hip, relishing in the reaction she received. And once again the fire grew.

She tugged down harder on my pants, lips still clinging to my skin. I swiftly removed them, which pulled me away from her touch and another breathy, needy exhale escaped her. As soon as they were off she pulled me to her as she scooted back onto the bed. I straddled her, sitting back on my knees while she sat beneath me, and our lips crashed together again. We kissed, hands tangled in hair, breathing getting quicker and more erratic. 

I reached for her bra and unclasped it quickly. She parted from our kiss to discard it and my lips trailed to her collarbone, gently pushing down so she would lean back further on the bed, and shifted to straddle only one of her legs. She leaned back eagerly and supported herself on her elbows and I threw one of my arms beneath her as I trailed my lips further down.

I pulled away slightly taking in the shape of her breasts, breath halting; I reached up with my free hand to cup the side of her breast and gently dragged my thumb across her already hard nipple. I watched as she drew in a ragged breath and closed her eyes, causing heat to race through my own body. I removed my hand in order to support myself easier and Nathalie dropped her own elbows to lay back against her pillows and eyed me hungrily.

I smirked at her wanting eyes and wrapped my lips around her dark nipple while bringing my knee up slowly, pressing it against her center. She let out a restricted moan and almost instinctively reached to grab the back of my thigh with one hand and pressed against my back with the other, seeking more pressure. I let out a hot fast breath against her breast, wrapping the hand that was underneath her tightly around her waist so I could give her the pressure she sought.

She moved against me, I could feel the heat through her pants against my bare thigh; her breath immediately slowed to match her tempo and I moved my lips back to her neck, flattening my leg more, receiving a breathy moan from the girl beneath me. The hand at my back gracefully moved around to the leg of my underwear and pushed what was there aside.

I pulled my lips away from her neck, breath halted in my throat and spread my legs further in anticipation. Her fingers found wet warmth, and she pressed them against me slowly forming circles; we both moaned at the fucking intoxicating contact and resumed a slow, fluid motion. 

As our rhythm increased, the shift from mutual giving and receiving began - as it always does - and we slowly readjusted with me once again straddling both of her legs, supporting myself with my arm against her headboard and her beneath me drawing tantalizing circles with her fingers.

With one swift movement Nathalie moved her fingers down and slowly buried them deep inside me. I let out a low moan, sitting lower to take as much as I could. I felt my muscles begin to tighten as she moved within me and closed my eyes tightly in anticipation. 

Then suddenly, her flat headboard felt intricately designed and there were furs beneath me where sheets used to be. The room was warm with the smells of honey and mint but it felt like I was supposed to be there - and honestly was in no mindset to be aware of the actual location. 

I continued moving against her fingers and when she curled her fingers forward, pulsating gently, I moaned her name as I threatened to come crashing down.

“Lexa.” I said desperately and then immediately froze. That name did not belong to my voice.

I jolted up having startled myself completely, opening my eyes to the dark, contemporary bed frame and smooth cotton sheets.

I flipped over, sitting down next to Nathalie - not Lexa - and staring forward, not daring to look her in the face.

“Fuck.” I said, and I felt the, now familiar, tightening in my throat creeping up and pushed that shit down as far as possible, not daring to question the reason why it had bubbled up in the first place. “I’m so sorry.” I added, mortified.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait for this one. My team made it to the world series and baseball games are long. I also got very distracted by making little playlists for each of my characters - I may post a link for those eventually.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little longer (I may edit the first bit back into chapter 3) but this is also the last expositional chapter in this story and I wanted to tie up a few more characterization points. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kind words of support thus far! Let me know what you think!
> 
> And of course, I own none of the characters or plot derived from 'The 100' or 'Fear the Walking Dead'

I absolutely could not believe what had just happened. Never in my life had I made such an embarrassing mistake - please refer to the aforementioned allure. The whole fucking reason I'd been able to avoid this was because I had always been aloof and detached - some of my best qualities by the way - and there I was moaning some other girl’s name. Like, who the hell was this fool? I was practically in shock, frozen in place, and gravely unaware that I was still sitting next to the woman whose name I explicitly did not moan, while I scolded myself in my mind.

I mean, I never got to lesson three, but it would have included good memory. People like to know that you pay attention to them and remember things; it makes them feel special. Remembering their fucking name is probably of top importance.

I saw Nathalie, in my peripherals, reach out her hand toward me - not to touch me, just to direct my attention somewhere physical - and she gently added, “It’s no worries.” 

“Are you kidding me?” I looked over at her in angry disbelief at what sounded like nothing more than a pitiful sentiment.

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh, I’m sorry, was this a date?”

The anger drained from my face, only to be replaced by confusion - not because I’m an idiot, but I was sincerely mortified and slightly traumatised by my faux pas, and there she was acting like it wasn’t a big deal.

“I didn’t think so,” She added. “Look, this isn’t a big deal.” Okay, so apparently it wasn’t a big deal.

She leaned back a little and added, “Most of us have a person whose name our brains will never let rest.” Well damn. “It happens.”

I chuckled a little bit and faced forward again, wanting to say: ‘that’s great for most people, but that’s not me’… and realised that even though that may not have been true prior to Clarke - damn her - it wasn't true anymore. I was one of those people now and I was pissed because I didn’t even fucking know her; Lexa shouldn't have meant anything, she was a stranger. And yet…

When I still didn’t respond, she added, “You’ve known me for maybe four hours; you don’t even know my last name. Why would I be offended that you said some other person’s name instead of mine?"

When I continued to seem unconvinced she continued, "Look, I’m actually pretty pleased that I could take you wherever you just went; I must’ve been doing something right for that to have happened.” She smiles and I chuckled under my breath again shaking my head at her lax attitude. “Hell, I mean if you hadn’t freaked out, I would’ve just gone with it. You can call me Lexa if you want.” She began to laugh but I interrupted her - surprising even myself.

“No.” I said louder than I had meant. She startled slightly and I looked back over at her; I relaxed a little and spoke much quieter, “No, I couldn’t do that.”

She looked at me, waiting. Waiting for the why. It was always the why.

For the first time I found it impossible to use my abrasive emotions as my defense. This was a problem that was someone else’s; Lexa was Clarke’s problem. I’d never been in love before. It wasn’t me; how could I defend something I didn’t really understand, myself?

And how the fuck do you say: you see in this other life I loved a girl named Lexa and it was tragic and well I just remembered it like last week so it’s all still a little new and weird and I hate it but I’ve never been in love just in my past life so I don’t really have any baggage except for the other worldly variety which is totally normal so let's pretend it didn’t happen and start over, okay ? You don’t. You don’t fucking say that.

I had been fighting and fighting to keep them all at bay - these people that, as Elyza, I didn’t know from Adam - and I just couldn’t do it anymore; they were here for the long haul, and all that was left was vulnerability, and - dare I say it - acceptance; I was having a sort of finding-the-light type of epiphany, sitting half naked on Nathalie’s bed after one of the most embarrassing sexual experiences of my life - there’s a hilarious story involving lube and a broken nose, but that’s for another day - and I looked back up at Nathalie in defeat.

“She died.” I admitted.

Nathalie’s eyes widened slightly and her lips pursed in that sad, understanding way. “I’m sorry.”

At this point it’s also important to highlight my internal dialogue, full of motivational anecdotes - as I’m sure you would guess. Mostly though, it was — what the fuck, Elyza? What are you doing? She died?! Who the fuck are you?!

“There was and accident; she was killed.” I added. I tried to remain pretty calm - and I’m sure for you well-adjusted folks at home it’s clear that I was in fact attempting to heal in a fairly appropriate manner for once - but internally I continued to berate myself for my continued talking.

She broke the silence - the length of which I’m still rather unsure, “When did it happen?” I looked over at her surprised, having been so entranced in my own thoughts. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“No worries,” I continued. “Honestly, the when of it all doesn’t particularly matter; it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m a different person now, I just wasn’t exactly expecting this to come barging to the surface tonight.” I was so fucking dramatic - but also, you’ve got to give me credit on that particularly clever answer.

“So you weren’t always the womaniser sitting before me?” She said lightheartedly. I feel like it's necessary to send out some type of thanks to Nathalie for how easy she made all of this. Only in hindsight can I really appreciate it.

I laughed, “Oh I never said that.” I responded with a wink. “I think she was the exception and not the rule.”

“So you did love her.” She said - it was more of a matter-of-fact statement than anything. 

I fought over that word in my head, and threw all of those walls right back up. “Are we playing 20 questions now?” Dodged that question like a genius. I tried to say it with sarcastic confidence, but somehow I knew she was much too clever for that.

“No.” She paused momentarily, looking at me sympathetically. “Maybe I’ve lost someone special too, or maybe I haven’t; maybe I just feel for you regardless.” She turned to face me fully, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Look, whenever you leave here, I know that we will likely never speak again. It’s also pretty clear that you haven’t mourned for or healed from Lexa; call it intuition. But, I have extended a simple hand of kindness and you can chose to do with it what you will. Clearly this rattled you, so our original plans are pretty much off. We do, though, still have a full bottle of wine that we can share, and you can talk about this, or whatever else you want, and we can still have a pretty decent night. It’s up to you.”

I bit the inside of my lip, mulling my options over and couldn’t think of a reason not to just spill the beans. I have never been one to turn down an opportunity that presents itself, and since weird shit had seemed to follow me like the plague recently, I said, “Fuck it. Get the wine.”

She laughed and got up, throwing her sweater back on as she brought the bottle over.

“Yes, by the way.” I said, utterly shocked at the words I was about to say. She looked at me curiously as she sat back down on the bed, wine in hand. “I did love her.”

“Do you still?”

“Well fuck, you have to at least give me the wine before I can think about that.” She smirked and handed the bottle over to me and I quickly took a swig.

I took a few more for good measure as silence sat with us.

“To be honest, I don’t really even know how to be the judge of that.”

“If she were to walk through that door, right now, what would you do?”

“Probably hope she wasn’t your girlfriend.” So clever. Deflect, Elyza, deflect. I let out a long sigh and took another drink as she looked at me gently and waited. I shook my head, trying not to think too deeply because I knew the tears would come.

“It’s okay to still love her and keep her near, but you also have to heal.” She paused again and the silence lingered for some time before she added. “You’ve got to find a way because it’s not fair to you if —”

“You’re right.” I said, scooting off the bed and standing up. Nathalie looked at me in confusion as I clumsily put my pants back on. “You think there’s any tattoo places open?”

“What?” She said in complete surprise.

“I’m getting a tattoo. For Lexa. I’m going to get a tattoo.” That was the first time I said her name aloud outside of the accidental moaning from earlier, and for the first time in a week it didn’t feel like it was threatening to overtake me. For the first time, it didn’t feel alien to me.

She chuckled. “If it works it works, although… you know what, never mind.”

“You’re more than welcome to come.” She stared at me even more curiously. I stopped putting my clothes back on and faced her. “Look. I’m impulsive. I hate feelings; I definitely don’t like to talk about them unless I find it to be beneficial to my personal interests - so you’re lucky you learned this much because this has definitely not benefited any interests of mine. We all deal with shit in our own ways, and for me, in this instance, that means not pushing this into the depths, never to be seen again. So I’m getting a tattoo. Decision made - I’ve got a plan and I’ve got to execute it.”

She stared at me and smiled. “You have to tell me what you’re getting first. Please tell me it’s not her name.”

I laughed. “It’s not; it’s a warrior’s band." She continued to look at me waiting for more explanation. "It represents battles won... and this is one I’d like to win. She had 3; she was brilliantly strong. Anyway,” I took a deep breath. 

“Alright, I’ll join you,” Nathalie added laughing. “I’m glad you decided to talk about it. I feel like maybe this encounter will hold a little more memorability than either of us once thought it would.” She looked at me gently, knowingly.

“I’d tend to agree.” I returned her smile. “Now, before we leave, I’ll need to draw it out.”

“Perfect, I’m going to eat a bite because I’m starving; downstairs we go.”

She nodded and we headed downstairs. She showed me to her desk after she found a sheet of paper and a pencil and headed into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. I closed my eyes, welcoming in - for once - the memories of Lexa as I tried to remember the intricate spiraling of her arm tattoo. 

Once again, the temperature felt like it changed, the smells in the room were much more earthy and warm; I remembered tracing those lines with my hands and I could feel Lexa’s warm, soft skin against my fingertips just thinking about it - and felt shocked and comforted that I could willingly take myself back to that place and still have control. 

She had told Clarke about the battles that each of the three tiers of her tattoo represented. Three battles her people had survived - not that she had won, mind you. It was a gentle and intimate memory that felt so far removed from the life I lived. 

I opened my eyes blinking back the tears, coming back to this reality and I started drawing; the sound of pencil and paper was no longer a burden.

—

After getting my tattoo done, some odd amount of hours later - I mean, I’d include it in our tale here, but it wasn’t very exciting. Inked up dude: check. Rapidly buzzing needle: check. Me being a badass: check. Nathalie drinking the rest of the bottle of wine: check. - I brought Nathalie back to her place ending what - to this day - was the most unexpected one nighter I’d had. Definitely didn’t go as planned and then got a fucking tattoo.

“So you’re a bikie and an artist; is there anything you don’t do?” She asked me as we stood outside her door.

“Date monogamously.” I quickly retorted. She chuckled and shook her head. “Thank you, by the way. I realise this probably wasn’t what you had in mind, but…” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Well nothing is ever certain. Maybe in another life, yeah?” She smiled encouragingly.

“If only.” I responded, wondering if maybe she too had a past life - or future, whatever. Maybe…

She opened her door and turned back to me, “Kick ass, Elyza.”

I laughed. “No doubt. Do the same, Nathalie.”

She gasped “You do know my name!” We both laughed and she winked at me as she walked back inside her house and closed the door. What a gem.

Who would have thought? I woke up that morning - bitter as hell - rejecting the very idea of fondness toward Lexa in particular and now I had her tattoo on my arm, loving and hating how whole and right it felt.

By the way, it’s fucking exhausting to be so damn introspective.

I got back on my bike again and headed straight home in the cold - this time with much more peace of mind than I’d had in a while. I could feel the tight bits of plastic wrap tugging at my arm, covering my fresh tattoo, and I laughed my ass off at how completely full circle this day had come.

The ride seemed to take hours, although realistically it was less than 20 minutes away; I walked through my doors and collapsed into my chair still wearing my backpack, jacket, and boots. I let out a slow, shaky breath, closed my eyes and let it all out.

I cried. I cried wholeheartedly, but also had to laugh when I realised how alike Clarke and I were, after being insistent on us not being the same - I mean if running from feelings were and Olympic sport Clarke Griffin and I would sure as hell be the best competition; although I’ll gladly give ol’Clarkey the gold, because look at this moment past me was having. Looks a lot like growth, you guys.

Anyway, I cried for Clarke and the death that seemed to have always surrounded her. It’s hard to explain what changed that night - and in all honesty my relationship with Clarke still changes from time to time emotionally - but I think that night, looking back, was the first night that I felt deeply connected to Clarke, instead of her being merely latched to me.

I cried for longer than I’d ever fucking admit, and when the emotions played themselves out - which was actually super relieving, but whatever - I was left with questions. I, being my logical self, scrounged around my place for a mostly empty notebook - admittedly I’ve always been a notebook kind of person. I constantly need to jot things down so that I can eventually come back to them; it’s compartmentalising and planning, which are my two favorite coping mechanisms and walls to put up.

I sat and I wrote all of my questions down. I had two weeks to mull things over and theorise before my dad and I headed to the States, and there was so much to be asked - mainly: fucking why?

I stayed up most of that night feverishly scribbling down questions I had about the turns my life had recently taken. When I did finally make it to bed, I wasn’t worried about the dreams as much - I mean I still was; Clarke killed an ass ton of people and went through some stuff that I had definitely still not gotten used to. I mean, Clarke and I were on much better terms but she still terrified me, honestly. 

Fear, I’d realised, was definitely the root of all of my hesitance with her - I mean if you remembered that in a previous life you were Clarke Griffin, wouldn’t you worry a little bit about the things you might be capable of? Clarke did. So now, you - in your normal easy life - have to ask yourself what you do with the fear: Do you forget about it and go on as if it can’t change you? Do you shrink in it and never push your limits for fear of what you could become? Do you take it on and trust your own motivations to keep you in line? What do you do?

Anyway, that’s the typically comforting stuff I got to think about during the next two weeks while I worked and packed and generally laid low - that was very dramatic. Truthfully I started feeling much more like myself.

The morning of our flight — Oh shit. I totally forgot about my second Clarke endeavor - wonderful storytelling, I know.

Let’s backtrack.

—

My first Clarkesperience, as it were, ended with mixed results, as you know - weighing embarrassment and shame against growth and knowledge is never easy. So after being all distantly existential for a week and a half I decided I’d try shooting guns - since that’s about as far opposite as one can go, and I like to work in paradoxes.

The gun was Clarke’s nemesis of sorts, for many reasons; it provided a lot of nonjudgmental protection - I mean for fuck sakes it was the only thing she took with her after the war at the mountain - but also provided a lot of unbiased tragedy - on which I don’t even need to dramatically elaborate. 

So, it seemed like the appropriate second endeavor in Clarke bonding - obviously.

I had hit a wall in my packing so I did a little shooting range research - knowing fuck all about them - and found one about an hour away and wrangled Matt into going with me - please refer to the lessons on being suave and alluring. It works in non-romantic feats as well, although is more frequently referred to as persuasion and manipulation, which I find to be very rude, frankly. So allure it is.

He came to my place and picked me up - he refused to ride bitch on my bike because of the fragility that is the male ego’s idea of masculinity, but also it was cold - and we headed out as soon as I got in the car.

“So you got a tattoo and now we’re going to a shooting range, yeah? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by you anymore, Eezy.” He said immediately as soon as I buckled in.

“Been planning that bit the whole trip over?” We both laughed. “No worries; I just figured I might as well find out how to use a gun before I head to America where they’ll give me one as a scratch-off prize at the petrol station. And also, yes, tattoo. I have one now.”

“And?”

“And what? It’s there now forever and it lived happily ever after.”

“Oh right of course.” He said and rolled his eyes.

“Now turn this song up, we haven’t had any of our classic duets in too long.” Totally got him, Elyza; evade evade evade.

We finally got to the place signed the papers and picked out our weapons - I used a little handgun. There were numbers involved, I honestly don’t remember - I do know it was double action, which basically meant you could pull the trigger repeatedly until the thing was empty; the easier the better, really.

We were at an indoor range and got to pick if we wanted to shoot at a round target or silhouette target; I obviously begged Matty to use the silhouette, cackling.

“Eezy, you’re so fucking morbid!”

“Oh come on, it’ll feel like were in an action movie!” I was giddy with excitement and threw on the big ear-muffs immediately.

Matt agreed to the silhouette targets and they were set up for us. “So what are we aiming for?” I asked him.

“Alright, let’s see. The first person who gets one shot in each layer and a headshot gets a free pint.”

Explanation because I can: the target was a blacked out silhouette with an oval shaped target on its chest with different layers. The center had an ‘X’ in it, followed by three more layers reading ‘9’, ‘8’, and ‘7’ respectively - so the game was 5 shots.

“Deal!” We were always making beer bets. I’ve never been much of a gambling woman, but I am always keen to buy a beer for someone or get one free - all good fun.

I face my target, raising my gun to shoot - it was much heavier than I thought it’d be - took aim for the center ‘X’ and fired. When I pulled the trigger the sound felt like it erupted from somewhere in my stomach and created a rush of memories all jumbled together that practically knocked me off my feet. 

The sound of Anya hitting the cold earth. 

Slender hands clutching black blood. 

The smell of the winter trees as the sniper fell. 

Warnings, threats, and protecting her people - seriously, if one of you guys has a past life experience we need to chat about how sense-driven it is without ever manifesting itself physically; I will never get over it.

Anyway, all of those feelings of memories only lasted a moment; the shot was fired, I took a couple steps back from sensory overload and then it was just gone; only to be replaced by adrenaline. I tried to maintain my cool as Matty turned to look at me judgmentally.

“Too much kickback for you?” He asked sarcastically.

I chuckled and looked back at the target. “Say what you will, Matty, I nailed it. Gonna be an easy beer for me tonight.” I realised that I hit the ’X’ squarely, while Matt had hit his target somewhere on the shoulder. The adrenaline was coursing through me and I felt incredible - which by the way, I was not expecting.

I raised my gun again and took three shots - I’m a confident woman; sue me. The sound, once again, triggered - get it? Triggered? I’m incredible - a hazy jumble of memories, but I tried to focus on the texture of the metal grip in my hand and the smell of the shot fired instead of the death and blood in my mind.

And it worked.

For the first time, I was able to quell the onslaught of unwanted memories - so fucking dramatic - and felt invincible; don’t worry, I’ll poke and prod at ‘why’ later.

My first shot hit above the first in the ‘9’ zone, the second and third were slightly to the left and higher, both landing in the ‘8’ zone.

“Matty, you are going to lose so fucking hard. I’m killing it,” I looked over to him. “Get it? Killing it.”

“Hilarious, Eezy. I’m starting to believe you’ve sharked me, though. There’s no way you’ve never shot a gun before.”

“Not even once in my life.” I smirked. Then, still full of confidence and adrenaline, I turned away from him and looked at the target and added, “Better put your earmuffs on; I’m about to win this game.”

I took two shots, hitting the ‘7’ squarely and then hitting the cutout where I would imagine ‘right between the eyes’ to be - that last statistic may be a stretch - and then took two more shots and laughed again.

“Matty, look, I pierced its ears!” He looked at me dumbfounded. “I’m pretty fucking good at this!”

“Alright, alright. Let’s just finish our rounds so I can buy you a beer and this can be forgotten about forever.”

Now it must be said, since I’m not a twisted maniac we walked out of the range and I didn’t once think about purchasing or even picking up a gun again; I mostly just mentally high-fived Clarke for her skills and thought about which beer I’d like to drink - I was like Atticus Finch but with a penchant for alcohol and sarcasm. I mean we all know I’ve had to pick up a gun since - I’d say spoiler alert, but whatever. Too fucking late now - but so did Atticus.

Okay, back to packing and leaving.

—

On our flight to the states my dad and I were fortunate enough to sit next to someone who wore headphones the whole trip, and we used it to our advantage. I pulled out my little notebook of questions much to my father’s secret enjoyment.

“Getting right down to it, Eez?” He asked with a smile.

“Dad, I have had a rather interesting month, to put it in absolute layman’s terms. I’ve had to write it all down; didn’t you?”

“I think I may have had less questions, kiddo. I also didn’t have anyone to ask, so I just had to wait, be patient, and figure it out as I went.”

“Yeah, you lost me at ‘wait’,” I winked.

I told him more about Clarke’s story for a while - being as dramatic as possible, of course - and for the most part I got through it all without breaking down. We talked about the war against the mountain and meeting Lexa, leaving ‘home’ and finding it again, and of course death.

“Were there ever any times that you unexpectedly felt, like, jolts of Jake’s memories? I don’t quite know how to describe it; it’s not like a visual dream, it feels like being physically transported elsewhere while your consciousness kind of remains here. Has that ever happened?”

“A lot at first. There’s still times where if I am feeling a certain way, the smells in the room will change or the temperature. When I first remembered, every time I would hug you the air would feel dry and sterile, as if I were on the Ark. Sometimes, specifically if you were upset, more vivid memories would resurface - mostly in feelings of panic and unrest.”

“What did you do with all of those feelings?”

“I suppose I just took them on and worked through them.” He said it as if it were the simplest fucking thing he’d ever done.

“But they aren’t your feelings, though; how can you just give in?” He looked at me, waiting. He knew his opinions didn’t align with mine, and he also knew that I fully understood what his answers would be and that my questions were mostly argumentative. I sighed, “I just don’t want this to change me. I want to be me, not Clarke.”

“I tend to think that maybe you are the most ‘you’ you can be because of Clarke.” He said, gently, knowing how vulnerable I felt.

“She just… scares me. She faced so many things I’ve never had to!”

“Then learn from those things; I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling, but I imagine it will be beneficial for you in the long run. Everyone goes through refining stages of life, yours is just pretty different from the norm. Take this on, and know you’ve got me, always.” This guy. I hated so much that he was right.

He asked about Abby and we talked about the things she went through and the tumultuous relationship she and Clarke had. It was all very sad and emotional, et cetera.

“As far as I can remember into Clarke’s life, Abby was still living.” I said trying to tell him everything I could about Abby. “You know, I think that maybe Clarke died too. Maybe we both remembered when they died - it would explain your age, for one. Jake died at around the same age as you were when you remembered.”

“I’ve thought that before as well; although recently I haven’t been able to explain why there’s that gap in memory between my last memories as Jake and when he actually died. Do your memories of Clarke end around 22 then?”

“I don’t know actually. The last vivid memories I have of Clarke end when she’s around 20 I’d guess, and then there’s just this void. It just feels like exhaustion and apathy - which I realise sounds really dramatic, but that’s just how it feels - but I can tell that she was still alive. They tried so hard, you know? But I have a feeling everything just ended.”

My dad, with pursed lips and tight nods, began to cry silently. He sniffed once and said, “I know that this is your life, and you’re here and well… but I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked around his apology - which was barely above a whisper - and I reached out to hold his hand.

We sat in silence for some time and decided not to discuss the past anymore, unless there was knowledge to be gained that could be actually used productively.

We agreed that talking about Clarke and Jake could only bring on sadness; if we could draw any purpose from any of this, it was to bring them both peace by our being together.

“Alright, old man. I’m putting ‘Party In The USA’ on repeat and sleep until we land.” I told him jokingly - although I was definitely going to.

“Alright, Eez.” He looked over at me sweetly while I put my headphones on. “Hey, I love you.”

I shook my head and smirked - because I’m so tough, “I love you too, dad.” He smiled and turned away from me and looked out the window.

I took a deep breath and for the next few hours I would sleep, accompanied by Miley - just for my own pride, I want it to be known that I have better taste in music than ‘Party In The USA’. That’s all.

California was getting closer, and when I think about this flight now, I still can’t believe how different I thought this entire trip would be - even the fact that it was supposed to be a trip.

Everything was about to change forever - and this is coming from a person who’s remembered living an entirely other life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elyza and Chrys are in for a treat!
> 
> Thank you so much for the warm response! Please continue to let me know what you think :)
> 
> And of course, I own none of the characters or plot derived from 'The 100' or 'Fear the Walking Dead'

Landing at LAX felt so hopeful. We had plans for as much touristy shit we could manage in a week and a decently nice hotel - side note we did not plan for the fucking ridiculous amount of traffic. What the actual fuck LA - and momentarily things were great!

Is that too spoilery? I’m just going to half-heartedly apologise ahead of time, because this is definitely the hardest portion of the story to tell. I’ve tried to tell this story as authentically as I can, but whatever, we’re moving along - you already know what the world is like now, so there’s no real reason in hiding it.

We went to Disney Land of course. We paid lots of transit fares - the whole wrong side of the car, wrong side of the road thing was a bit much.

We hiked in the Hollywood hills. We paid lots of transit fares.

We walked along the Hollywood Walk of Fame. We paid lots of transit fares - it’s a running theme, or rather, a riding theme. Get it? I’m a gem.

About 4 days into our week in LA, I started hearing bits and pieces of strange information from cab drivers and people on buses; odd things happening to people on the east coast and how they wished it would stay over there. Things like the possibility of flight cancelations and quarantines. Disease. Virus. Warfare.

It was all so vague then. Everything was coming from miles away.

One night at the hotel, after having spent the day roaming about Hollywood - I, for the record, spent part of my afternoon traipsing about different areas in LA that were mentioned in ‘The L Word’. We won’t talk about how disappointing and yet also satisfying the series finale had been the year prior, but for the record I was always all about Bette. She could tell me what to do any day, but I digress - we turned on the news, per my request and I listened intently, begging for more virus coverage.

By the way, I know we just went from Disneyland to warfare in about 30 seconds - and you’re probably thinking all fun times are over - but honestly I hardly even remember the touristy shit. We drank, we laughed, we traveled, and it means nothing. But I can tell you I’ve replayed the moment I should have caught onto this shit show about a million and a half times, and even now - years later - it’s really the only thing I’ve continued thinking about from that week. Because now, even those good times we had - before all of this - are tainted with knowing that I should have, or could have, been more prepared.

Anyway - so fucking dramatic - back to the news. 

After a few minutes of me being glued to the tele, my dad sighed from somewhere behind me and said in his most exasperated voice, “Elyza, why do you insist on listening to bad news? This is supposed to be vacation!”

In his eyes - I think - I had turned into a bit of a conspiracy nut, constantly listening to rumors that spread in hushed voices. I had brought the subject up to him multiple times and he refused to see it - where the hell was Jake when you needed him?

“Dad, I know this goes against all of your peace loving ways, but there is something happening out here that we need to figure out. I do not want to fucking fly across this country into some disease infested warzone! We need to know what’s going on.”

“Elyza!” He chuckled as news anchors rambled in the background. “You don’t honestly think it’s that serious, do -”

“Yes, Dad. I do.” I looked at him sternly. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see it; why was I the only one able to see these pieces coming together. I felt a little crazy; it couldn’t escape my mind that something serious was happening. Something serious that they - the powers that be - didn’t want us to know. It was happening all over again.

“Look, Dad, Jake may have died before getting to the ground, but Clarke didn’t! She lived through it - lived through this. She went from solitary confinement in the Ark to hurtling toward the earth in mere hours with no knowledge, no communication, and no plan. I want, and need, to make sure I can get as much as I can, as long as I can. Look, if nothing happens than we can yuck it up later, but if it is as serious as I feel it is, way down in my gut, then we need to listen and prepare.”

He just looked at me and nodded slowly in concession; I had broken our cardinal rule by bringing up Clarke’s life, but it was necessary.

So we watched.

The only thing the news anchors would say were vague glimpses and explanations. They told us not to be alarmed, but that was the night that the first sirens began. Needless to say I was nervous as fuck.

Needless to say I was right.

During the following few days, the news treated this like police violence and public unrest. Someone was killed in the streets; it went viral. 

I tried to keep the panic at bay, and called the airport flight assistance to see about our flight - which was scheduled for the following day - and very quickly found out it had been canceled with the intention of being rescheduled.

I asked about the next flight to Australia and there weren’t any.

There were no more flights out of the country.

We were trapped.

I waited too long. I was right, and I missed the window of opportunity - never in my life have I ever fucking wished that I was more wrong about anything.

I remember thinking about Clarke and how quickly everything had changed for her, how it went from normal life with school and family to the death of her father and a year’s worth of solitary confinement. And then how it went from solitary confinement to Earth. When shit hits the fan it fucking explodes.

My father may have been willingly blind to the signs of the world before us, but he was right about the fact that there was much good - in this new world - that came from knowing Clarke.

—

Momentary pause, because I can.

Okay so, every badass - I would say hero, but I don’t quite believe in those - has an origin story, kind of like Batman, and it involves the proper ingredients. 

The morning that the video of the man being shot on an exit ramp surfaced - it was April in 2010 - is when I think my recipe sort of completed itself - yes, that means I’m saying I am a badass. No, I have never claimed to be humble.

The recipe for a badass is as follows:  
\- Two parts experience from tragedy - which I had Clarke on my side, so that’s probably around four parts, really.   
\- Two parts effective planning and quick thinking - I don’t mean to brag but Clarke and I have just about the maximum cumulative parts, there.  
\- One part allure and persuasion - which I believe we’ve covered.  
\- One part dire, life and death situation to showcase your skills - spoiler alert.  
\- And the final, most important part being distance. Every badass needs to be exactly one part emotional distance.

And as much as it pains me to say, I do owe a bit of thanks to Clarke. Had I been thrust into this situation without the knowledge I’d gained from Clarke, you better believe I would have been dead before the end of Day 1 - I mean, I suppose also we wouldn’t have been abroad, so I don’t know when or if it would have hit Australia, but I imagine it would. I could definitely see it going terribly.

Before Clarke, I was too distant; I didn’t particularly care about much outside of myself and my father. That doesn’t mean that I was evil and wanted bad things; it means I was apathetic and didn’t care. I had always been a person who felt that personal responsibility should outweigh feelings - if you fucked up, that’s on you and you alone.

Clarke on the other hand cared too much. She cared too much for people who made terrible decisions - all of that ‘doing what was right for my people’ bullshit, is what I’m talking about. I would have disassociated myself with that shit as soon as humanly possible - but probably still would have begged Abby to come. Now, Clarke was more than capable of making the tough decisions but they always haunted her. They haunted her because she cared too much.

Love is not weakness. Weakness is the inability to judge without bias.

This was a new beginning.

Welcome to Elyza Lex 2.0.

—

The next morning, I knew we had to get down to business. My dad and I had agreed, the night before, that precautions needed to be made after I told him about all of the flights being canceled.

“Alright, Dad. We have to start actually preparing. No more California dreaming and tourist palooza. This shit is getting serious and we need to get the hell out.”

“Really, at breakfast?” He said. He may have accepted that there was something going on, but insisted on remaining oblivious to its intensity.

“Dad. This is fucking serious, okay. This is not pretend. We need to get out of the city.” I was almost incapable of containing my frustration with him, and broke one of our cardinal rules for the second time. “What would Jake think right now? Hmm? Why are you so fucking insistent on remaining ignorant to the severity of this situation!” I put my silverware down in frustration and shook my head at him.

“I -” He started, with no intention to finish.

“You are all I have. You are all I care about protecting, and you’re just going to need to trust me. Please.” I begged.

He sighed and finished his thought. “I do trust you; I’m just terrified. Truthfully. I don’t know what to think.”

I reached out for his hand. “Me too.” I gave him a momentary and sentimental pause before resuming my insensitive relentless planning. “Now we have to figure out where we’re going to go, okay? We cannot stay here.”

He took a deep breath in, “Alright. What do you propose we do?”

“We need to get away from cities, I think the most protected we’ll be is somewhere secluded. We don’t want to be stuck here if quarantine were to go into effect”

“I agree. It could be just like anytime sickness spread on the Ark.” I gave him a small smile - gotta award the man for trying, I guess. “So should we go North, East, or South?”

I pondered momentarily, “No, I think we go West. They’re going to close down major roadways and we can’t drive for shit; I am not prepared to find some back way out of Los Angeles. I think we go to water; we’ll be safer on the water, I reckon; can’t quarantine the ocean.”

“Okay, so we have our ‘where’ down -”

“Dad.” I stated facetiously.

“Eez, the ‘w’s are always going to work. Shame me if you must.” He responded with a wink which got a laugh from me. “Anyway, ‘where’ is solved. How are we going to do that?”

“Long Beach?”

“The question was how. I’m confused.” Sarcasm with this one is rare, but I tell you what.

“Well I’m betting there’s a bunch of boats out there - there’s a bunch of rich people out there right? We’ll need to persuade ourselves onto one or commandeer one?” Thank you Pirates of the Caribbean.

“You want to steal a boat.” Oh Chrys.

“If it comes to that, but we just need to gain passage, somehow. Anyway, before we can even figure out how - because let’s be honest that is a half-baked plan at best - we need supplies. I refunded the money from the flight already -”

“Elyza.” He took a breath, and I looked at him eagerly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sorry. I do trust your instincts here; I want you to know that. This is just hard.”

“That’s a good choice on your part.” I said as I winked. “We’ll need to stock up on first aid, portable food, and we’ll need weapons - now don’t you dare argue with me. If this shit continues we’ll need protection and fortunately we’re in America where weapons are bountiful. Now before any of that happens, we need to write down as much information as we can, and get maps and stuff while the grid is still up. If I know anything, it’s that the electricity, phone lines, internet, and all the other useful shit in the world will go down first.”

“So, are you going to tell me where it is you think we should head in the long run?”

“I mean, I think we’ll need to go South. If we wish to get anywhere we’ll likely need to get through the Panama Canal, so -”

“Elyza you can’t be serious.”

“And your plan was what, to rent a kayak and get to Australia from here?” I tried not to let the worry seep through my voice, but my dad was not acting like he was going to survive very long in a fast-action kind of world. “There aren’t going to be finite plans, but we have to have plans that are going to create enough opportunities and options for us. Staying near land is the right option - but far enough away if their plan is to burn the cities to the ground.”

I knew he was trying; Chrys Abiga would be the last man to completely rule out anything - sometimes even when proof was held right under his nose. He wanted to trust me, and believe that shit was impending, but he also held onto the naive hope that it was avoidable.

And in reality we needed to stay close enough to the sources of life but far enough away from impending violence. People a fucked up and it could only get worse in my mind.

So, I sent him out to get some easily portable food and water bottles, as well as 9mm ammunition - obviously he wanted to protest, but eventually agreed.

I was off to buy weapons.

That was a very dramatic setup for a very quick failure; turns out California has a 10-day waiting period on purchasing firearms - which is smart but changed my entire perspective on America - so I was shit out of luck.

I did find another place that sold weapons fairly quickly though and purchased a couple different knives - of which I still don’t know the technical names, but in total one was snappy, and two were bigger. I kind of imagine the big knives as ‘the knife’ weapon in Clue. I also bought a hatchet but I know what that’s called.

I realise I left it out, but I bought maps and batteries too - it was all for the sake of dramatic storytelling. Are you not entertained?!

—

We met back up at the hotel after our supply run and packed up with the intention of not returning. We didn’t have a damn place to go, and we knew we weren’t staying at that hotel anymore.

We were prepared but without an actual plan; not preferred but definitely better than nothing.

While I packed up all of my things that afternoon, my Clarkey sense was tingling and I knew we were right to be so prepared - maybe it was just Clarke giving me a little pat on the back because that girl was fucking never prepared for a damn thing - it definitely helped keep the fear at bay.

Anyway. I could just feel all the bad shit in the air.

I was not wrong.

I had zipped my last pocket closed and made sure I could count all of my weapons - I had given the hatchet to my dad because I figured its serving a very useful function would make him more willing to take it, and I also made him take one of the bigger knives which I’m sure he resented - my snappy knife was in my back pocket and the bigger one was in my backpack - because I was very naive.

I headed out the door when I heard a scream. I looked down the hall to see the cleaning lady backing out of a room with a person limping slowly behind her - the limper was also covered in blood, I should mention. I looked at the cleaning woman as she ran toward me.

She didn’t say a single word to me and just kept running. 

I looked back at the limping, and now moaning, person - the woman - inched persistently closer; she didn’t seem to really be looking at me, or focused on me, but it kept moving forward. It was like seeing someone sleepwalk, but this person had seen some shit.

The virus.

It had spread.

I banged on my dad’s door while keeping an eye on the limper, “Let’s go, Chrys!” He opened it with a confused look. “Get the hell out here. We need to go now. That virus is limping its way down the hall.” He tried to say something but I interrupted. “Now! That thing is a slow fucker, but we need to leave. Immediately!”

I realise that this may all seem far too fucking calm for having seen my first infected person covered in blood, but inside I was panicking. I knew from the news - and my not being catatonic yet - that the virus wasn’t air born. But I also definitely didn’t know if it was curable at this stage, or how to safely kill this woman if that’s what was in fact necessary.

So I watched her. I can’t explain what the creepiest part of her was; she was a woman, maybe around the same age as my dad, and she had lounge pants and a t shirt on. She was barefoot. Blood covered her hands and a majority of her shirt, and there were remnants of who knows what hanging from her mouth. She hissed and moaned and seemed so unaware and inhuman. 

I think that’s always been the eeriest part of all this - especially in the beginning. Rotting flesh does most of the dehumanising for you; makes it all a bit easier, but much more foul. You win some you lose some I guess. Anyway - this was some woman who was relaxing in a hotel. Maybe she was drinking coffee in the first silence she’d had in years. Maybe she was on her honeymoon and blissfully happy. This thing that walked toward me didn’t care that it had blood under her fingernails or viscera in between her teeth, but she looked like someone who would have very much cared. It was all very fucked up and unsettling.

I pounded on the door again and almost punched my dad in the face as he opened the door; he looked over at the limping woman and I quickly grabbed his shoulder. He looked at me and I just shook my head and pulled him to follow me, bags in arms as we ran down the stairs and out of the hotel for good.

We stood on the sidewalk out of breath, back in the real world with real people and traffic and so much fucking noise.

“What in the world was that?” My dad eventually said after we successfully hailed a cab and headed to Long Beach.

“Fuck if I know. She didn’t really seem to be functioning - outside of just walking awkwardly and slowly. I mean there was all the blood, but I don’t know what was happening at all; I have no clue.”

“You guys talking about the shooting?” The cabbie in front of us asked. He saw our confused looks in the rearview mirror and added, “Uptown. The cops shot some girl a couple times and they say she didn’t even react. She was just walking all weird, like she was hopped up or something, and then they shot her a couple times. Then they shot her right square in the head and she just dropped. People are rioting down there now, but some people think that the girl was just as shady as the cops that shot her. Bunch of weird shit going around.”

“Shit.” I said, and noticed my dad looking straight forward, completely emotionless - it just became real for him.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride and distractedly got out of the car when we arrived. For once the noise was a welcome one.

—

We walked aimlessly and didn’t speak - I think both of us just had this weird sinking feeling that we saw what was to come, and these thousands of people that were all around us were completely unaware; it made me feel like I was wearing a bomb.

I was glad for the distraction when my dad elbowed me.

“Eez, check that out.” He pointed out towards the boats in one of the nearby docks. When he saw my squinted confusion he added, “Just past that sign. See that?”

I sure as fuck did. “Dad, I thought we had already discussed that this fell under the worst idea ever.”

“Come on, Elyza. Please. Can we just walk over there?” He didn’t even wait for a response he just started walking, and I begrudgingly followed.

The boat had ‘Abigail’ across the back. It was a big yacht about 20 meters away - so I was at least glad that it wasn’t a fucking canoe, since he was so fucking intent on boarding it, apparently.

“What if this is a sign or something, Eez?”

“If it were a sign it would be called ‘Clarke and Jake This is a Sign’, not ‘Abigail’.” I’m such an ass. “Plus what’s your plan in just walking up to this boat in broad daylight? I was thinking we’d do a bit more staking out before the commandeering began.”

We came within 5 meters of it before my dad said, “Maybe we’ll just see if anyone is here. Maybe she’s here.” So fucking hopeful, this one.

And just as he said that, a garage door type of thing started raising up at the back of the boar - I mean, I don’t really know how to describe that bougie shit - and we heard a deep laugh come from within it. As the door continued to raise slowly, I could see a little raft sitting inside - so it was a garage - and there was a person standing next to it. The door was still covering their face but they were at least well dressed from the waist down.

The door was still rising when we heard, “I can tell you now, there is no ‘she’ aboard this boat.” As the door reached its full height, a man stepped forward out of his little boat garage.

“My apologies.” My dad added and started backing away. The man stepped full onto the dock and looked at us with his hands on his hips.

“Well look at what the cat has dragged in.” He said chuckling. All of his words were very pointed and almost cold. He and I made eye contact; he was a tall, well-dressed black man with a beautifully deep voice and searching eyes. 

He must have read the confusion on my face because I heard that deep laugh again and he added, “I’m so disappointed you don’t recognize me; I knew you’d show up one day.” My dad had moved to stand by my side again, both of us wondering what the fuck was happening, and most likely hoping the man was drunk and not crazy. He raised his hand to tap his finger against his temple slightly. “You see, the dreams don’t stop, Clarke.”

Physical and emotional reactions happen in milliseconds; I stiffened at hearing that name. I’m sure my eyes widened; I tried to stay unmoved because he paused, waiting for my reaction and I didn’t want to give myself away. But if his little smirk was any indication, I’d given him exactly what he needed. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, that’s not my name.” I added before he could say anything else. I needed to at least set up some type of ground to stand on, here.

He chuckled again, “Not in this world.”

I tried to remain calm and process any type of thought as to who this guy might be - his fucking chuckling and laughing was getting on my last nerve.

“Who are you?” My dad asked, trying to be firm.

“You’re the one who walked up to my boat, Jake.” God, the way he used our names was grating. He didn’t say them threateningly, he just toyed with us knowingly.

Then it dawned on me.

“Wells?” I asked. I tried to keep all emotions at bay, but I felt like crying - which we’ve discussed before.

Without skipping a beat, he responded with a smirk, “Not in this world.”


End file.
